Monday, November 10, 2008

The Finger Sniff

I love 2-ply toilet paper. It's not just softer than single-ply, but it saves my fingers from the potential rip while I'm wiping my anus.

I KNOW every one in the world has done this and if you say you haven't, you're a liar. 

You sit down to drop a Cleveland Steamer, stand up for the wipe, you forgot your Tucks Pads at home and grab some of the single-ply tee-pee. You dig away until there's no more sign of fecal residue left...and then you go for one more.

There's your first mistake.

The single-ply is too weak. It can't handle the follow-up wipe. You go for the final dig, pull the tee-pee out to inspect, and it happened. The paper tore. And what's sitting there on your fingertip like an abandoned baby on your doorstep? 

"Was I making brownie mix earlier?"

That's there's crap on your finger. And no one is looking. You get curious. You look around to make sure no one's looking, you put your finger to your nose...

...and sniff.

You. Are. Nasty.

You've done this before. Stop lying. 

Saturday, November 1, 2008

Fantasy Football: Dungeons and Dragons for Jocks.

It's sad to admit that after almost 3 decades of existence as a man this is the first year I've been in a Fantasy Football league. All I can say is I feel like the kids in high school with trenchcoats who ate lunch everyday in the school library playing Magic. We used to go watch sometimes and see if we could sneak a couple of their best cards and run off with them just to piss them off.

"May Orgunth the Sorceror of the Ura-Khai curse your future squaw's womb!!"

These were the kids that you'd see on TV bringing a gun to school and blasting away the football team. And now...I have become one of them.

Fantasy football is Dungeons and Dragons for jocks. And it's 10 times worse. I love the pseudo-strategy of the draft. And my favorite...people talking trash about how their team's gonna open up a can of World of Warcraft Whoop-A on you. I see guys at work that stare at their team all day long, talking about them in 1st person like they're Mike Ditka. "If A.P. can get me at least 100 yards and a score this Sunday, I'll be sittin pretty."

These FF guys are bigger nerds than the 1242 Club with their padded PVC-pipe weapons and their chainmail pretend fighting eachother at the Kiwanis park Wednesday nights. At least they get some excercise. But turns out...I'm addicted. And dang, this fighting looks fun. It's time to bury the fake-padded hatchet. See you guys on Wednesday.

SoCal is not a city

Met a dude the other day. Asked him where he was from.

"i'm from So-Cal."


"Yeah, So-Cal."

"Where the aych is So-Cal?"

"You know...Southern California."

"Oh really? What city?"


"Why don't you just say 'Anaheim' then? Everyone knows where Anaheim is."

"What about you? Where you from?"

" i'm from Cen-Ute."


"Yeah. You know. Central Utah. "  Moron.

You are not cool just because you are from Southern California and you are even less cool when you say So-Cal.  You thing you're cool because you have a beach? The Goonies had a beach and they were nerds.  You move to another state, pop your collar, faux-hawk your hair, take a cash advance on your mom's Visa card to buy some True Religions, drive a 4x2 white Ford truck with your "SoCal" sticker on the back window...perfect target practice for eggs.   

Please retake Geography. 

P.S. APX is hiring. 

Thursday, October 30, 2008

"Just Bring Yourself"

Got invited to a Halloween party last weekend.  Fondue? More like Fon-don't.

Made a phone call to ask what we should bring. 

"Oh, just bring yourself!"


Of course I'm bringing myself you idiot. You invited me.  Why wouldn't I bring myself. Why don't you just say, "We've got everything covered. It's our party and we're not cheap-A peeps who throw a party but make everyone bring stuff."

If I invite you to lunch, I pay for lunch. If you throw a party, you buy everything. 

Please stop saying, "Just bring yourself!"

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Sorry, we no longer accept checks

Went to the grocery store the other day to buy life's staples. Diapers, milk, and Meadow Gold Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream sandwiches. Got to the checkout line only to realize I had no cash. 

I hate paying with a check.

"That'll be $24.88 please."

"Uh...okay. Let me just fill out this slip of paper, hand it over, not make eye contact with you in hopes you don't realize it's not a real form of American currency, and I'm broke."  And then these 15 year old cashiers who have never seen a checkbook look at you like you just handed them a freshly picked booger. They stare at it, hold it up to the light, call the manager over..."Hey Mark, this guy just handed me this thing, is this a joke?"

Listen. I don't have any money. But maybe if I just fill out this piece of paper that's the same size of real money, I think you will accept it for some reason, and maybe the bank will pay you back.

I love the old ladies who write everything down meticulously in their balance book. Perfect cursive, looks like the diary of a serial killer.  

And then, when you write out the total on the second line, make sure you write the tail of the "Y" in "Twenty-four dollars and eighty-eight cents onlyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy" all the way across the entire check. Because we all know that 15 year old zitty faced kid is really a member of the Belgium underground fraud gang who is going to take your check to his grandma's basement, take out a pen, and write, "...eighty-eight cents onlyyyyyyy and 1.4 million dollars." And then you're screwed.

Please, burn your checkbooks.